


so tall and handsome as hell

by garden of succulents (staranise)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Holster is the best wingman, Jack is an adequate wingman, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9771281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranise/pseuds/garden%20of%20succulents
Summary: Tater gets a glimpse of Ransom and decides they need to meet.





	1. Chapter 1

“What!” Tater says. “Zimmboni, why are you smile so much?”

Jack looks up, the grin curving his face, and pushes the laptop back a little like a small invitation to watch. “My old team asked me to watch some of their tape and give them some feedback. They… get a little goofy.”

Tater happily settles in next to Jack to get a look at the people Jack loves so much, and grins himself at their warmup antics, at the coordinated dances the captains do after a goal, at the way the boys mug the rinkside camera, like they know it’s for Jack. He stays sitting when Jack finishes writing his post-game notes, starts up the next video. The file name says it’s a practice, not a game.

The overhead camera shows that one of the captains is geared up and doing laps around the empty rink with their team manager on his shoulders; after a second the figure obscuring the rinkside camera backs up from where he was turning it on, and carefully checks it over before backing up more, so he can make sure it’s perfectly positioned. He’s the second captain, the fearless one who occasionally pulls off prodigies of stick-handling, who gives the camera a heart-melting grin and a thumbs up before turning and skating away. OLURANSI, his jersey says.

Tater unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “I like your team,” he says. “I come meet them, yes? You introduce us.”

Jack looks apprehensive for a minute, and Tater tries not to feel hurt, but then he smiles. “They’d love that.”

“ _I’m_  love that,” Tater says firmly, and then looks back at the screen. Other players are coming in, so Birkholtz and Oluransi have put the team manager down, put their serious faces on; but Oluransi’s smile lives on in the warmth of Tater’s stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

“Dear God,” Dex ground out. “Am I really seeing this?”

“Seeing what?” Nursey said loudly, but was stopped from moving forward by Holster’s arm across his chest.

“So good hockey player!” Alexei Mashkov was saying. “We see you next year, play with us?”  Ransom was squirming under the enthusiasm of his regard. “Think you are good! And so tall. We are same height, I’m think?”

Holster muttered something inaudible as Ransom tried to demur, suppressing his secret delight as Mashkov insisted they get up off the couch and stand back-to-back. Tater asked Bitty to arbitrate, which meant they both had to lean against each other to bend their knees to give him a good look at comparative heights, which obviously wouldn’t work, and in between not-quite-giggling Ransom’s eyes bugged out in a way that suggested Mashkov had found a way to cop a feel.

“Yep,” Chowder said, faint but clear. “That’s flirting.”

“I gotta go,” Holster said, and turned on his heel.

“Holtzy!” Nursey called after him, but was too drunk to manage Holster’s speed on the stairs; after his second stumble he gave up, staring up them with confusion and concern.

* * *

“I, uh, yeah,” Ransom said at the foot of the stairs, squirming out from the arm Tater had around him. “Yeah, I just… gimme a minute.” Tater stood patiently in the hallway, looking tipsily bemused, while Ransom sprinted up to the attic. 

Then he had a moment of panic because his Mashkov posters _weren’t_  on the wall. Not even, when he stood on Holster’s bunk, the magazine cutouts on his headboard. Heart pounding, he whirled around, then noticed the roll lying on the desk, and the manila folder stuck in his Micro textbook.

There they were.

“Thanks, Holtzypoo,” he whispered, and clattered back downstairs to lead Alexei Mashkov to his “more private” space.


End file.
